Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jan 2013 Pandora dO
dania
If I had the ocean, so vast and blue,
Or if I had the sky, I’d give it to you,
But all I had was a smile,
Petty and meek,
So you got hooked while I was barely a week,
I was innocent and small,
And you risked it all,
For a man you barely knew,
How could you?
But even I have to admit,
That if you ever decided to quit,
I’d still laugh at all your jokes,
We’d never trust any blokes,
And you’d still be a perfect mother to me.
You probably don’t know me,
You probably don’t care,
But I want you to know,
That I have red hair.
written for a grade 8 creative writing project
You are My Constant, touching my skies
and surrounding me with the pleasure
of your existence.  
This is an ancient truth
held by the hand of time
and cannot be concealed
or brought down,
futile is resistance.

I will never exhibit thorns
in between my words
or to your feelings
when walking  alone
on the shores of my sea.
You are My Constant,
sailing always in the back of my mind,
a ship flying your colors
to the port of me.

You are My Constant.  
The one I can never forget.
Without words you have spoken
to my heart
all these years.  
You are my sun,
the light of all my hope.
My Constant,
the one I hold inside my heart,
most dear.
Copyright @2013 - Neva Flores - Changefulstorm
 Jan 2013 Pandora dO
DieingEmbers
Snow white
waits
as seven little men
mine
for diamonds
The snows arrived and so have the icicles
Coming through the night I feel strange seconds
within a familiar light.  
Here is where my imagination led me to think
no one heard my plight.

Still I smiled in wonder, though the darkness
seemed stronger every second.
Because I yearned to hear your words,
know my life was in your presence.

I bade farewell to the night , closed my eyes
let those seconds pass right by.
As that familiar light that came inside,
kept your face within my sight.
Copyright @2013 - Neva Flores-Changefulstorm
it just doesn’t seem fair
that i’m at work
while the world takes a holiday
and it certainly is annoying
that you are at home
and i can’t be with you
i while away the hours
on this and that
talking, laughing,
trying to get some work done
but Einstein was right-
it feels like the seconds are dragging on
this day just doesn’t seem eager to end
i think – “I hate working Saturdays”

but then finally its time to leave
and that’s when i realize
what is so special about today

today i don’t return to an empty dark house
i return to you!
You are at home to welcome me in
with a hug and a kiss
and some little surprise
that you always have for me
every working Saturday
suddenly even in this twilight
the day seems brighter
and lovelier
i think – “i love working Saturdays”

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   05.01.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
I just spent the whole of today cribbing with my colleagues about how we have to work on Saturdays while everybody else is on a holiday. But when I was returning home, I had this sudden realization that maybe it isn't all that bad :)
If a poem has a life of its own,
and each life, nothing more than a dream,
*aren't you and me, poems written in dreams,
of someone, in some planet, some time?
The reality we know speaks the language of  dreams; do we understand it's cosmic scheme?
if some day, i did forget
my name
my place
and everything that I did
would I still remember
how to write?
is it like cycling- a skill once learnt
that is never forgotten
or is it a gift
once lost, never to be found?
would I recognize these words I’ve penned
with passion and pain mingled-
would I feel the joyful comfort I’ve felt
in their expression?

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
25.12.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Next page